


The T is for "Third Wheel"

by TAFKAB



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Camping, Jealousy, M/M, Older Characters, Third Wheels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:05:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8022043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/TAFKAB
Summary: James T. Kirk is stuck in a tent, all by his lonesome.  Just him and Jack Daniels.  Problem is, Jack isn't cuddly enough to compensate for what he can hear.





	The T is for "Third Wheel"

**Author's Note:**

> I might have already prompted someone to write this. If I did.... I apologize, but hey, I want to see other people's versions of it too. For my money, there can't be enough TOS movie Spones. ♥
> 
> I don't believe there was actually a tent in STV, much less two of them. So... it's AU just enough to allow for the addition of a couple of tents, because dangit, Spock and Bones need one.

Yosemite can get pretty damn cold at night, even in high summer. 

The fire is mostly out, cherry-red embers casting a dim glow that catches in the nylon of Jim's tent. 

The temperature is a problem.

It's a problem because he's too cold to go out and build up the fire again, and too lazy, and too drunk-- but even if he weren't, he wouldn't stir a centimeter from where he is.

He releases a slow, stealthy breath; he doesn't want his friends to hear he isn't sleeping.

He doesn't want them to know he knows _they_ aren't sleeping.

He was a little startled when his two best friends showed up with only one tent between them-- he'd have expected two, or failing that, one large enough for all three of them. But no, they had a two-man tent and he had his little pup tent, and they all set them up without saying anything about it, Bones and Spock working together.

Maybe it was because Bones isn't as spry as he used to be. He's thinned in his old age; Jim wouldn't call him frail-- not yet-- but he isn't getting stout the way Jim and Spock have. Maybe it was the xenopolycythemia that almost took him back on Fabrini, or something else, the rigors of time taking their toll. 

It was still a chore for him to put up a tent, with all its poles and pegs and stretchy cables. Spock helped him, the two of them arguing vociferously over nothing, so much so that Jim knew it was just an excuse to interact. After that, Bones made vegetarian food and Spock complained about it, but he ate three helpings before he quit. 

He hadn't been particularly annoyed about the marsh melons, either. 

And immortality, well. None of the three of them have that; they're fucking lucky to have Spock back at all, and he thinks McCoy knows that better than any of them.

McCoy, who carried Spock's katra until the miracle of Genesis meant he could give it back to him.

A soft sound disturbs the night, rustling, then something almost subvocal, a little breathy cry. It could be an animal in the forest, but it isn't. It's Bones, he thinks, and he knows the good doctor isn't having a nightmare. No, he's welcoming hands and a mouth on him, welcoming the faintest stealthy rustle that must be Spock.

It can't be anything else.

*****

Jim thinks of Nurse Chapel, a long time ago. She'd been tearful with joy: "We shared consciousness, Mr. Spock."

Spock and McCoy have shared considerably more than that. They shared two minds, two souls, and one overburdened human body. 

Now they're different, both of them. McCoy still bitches, still complains, still teases-- but sometimes when he looks at Spock, he twinkles-- hell, sometimes he shines all over. And when Spock looks back, his dark eyes are deep and warm. He isn't confused anymore. He isn't lost; McCoy grounds him-- with words, with glances, with little touches. And if Spock still isn't precisely identical to his old self, well... none of them are. 

Kirk is cold, his blankets not quite enough to shield aging flesh from the stillness of night. But the cold goes deeper than flesh; it goes to the core of him, where it turns lonely.

He should've carried Spock's katra. He would, if he'd been handy. He thinks. He thinks if they'd both been handy, Spock would've given it to him, not McCoy. Once he was sure of it. Now maybe he isn't anymore.

A murmur, barely audible-- Spock. Bones makes a low response: "Get up here," and chuckles. He's noisier than Spock, still a little drunk. 

Spock doesn't take that as an indication Bones can't give informed consent. This indicates they've made love before. 

A wet sound-- kissing. James T. Kirk knows from kissing, and that is definitely kissing. 

Now they're sharing two bodies, along with everything else, and Jim realizes he feels left out, forlorn, a little jealous. OK, a lot jealous. And not just because he'd like to be warm. 

*****

He thinks of scratching at the tent to knock. He could speak up. _Hey, is this a private party, or is anybody invited?_ But he doesn't quite know if they'd shut down, shut him out, or welcome him in. He doesn't know how awkward it would be to try to lie with the two of them, even if the tent were big enough for three, which it isn't. He doesn't want a pity fuck because they both feel too bad to say no. He doesn't want to be the asshole who interrupts and makes them stop what they're doing. 

They need this; they need each other. 

Besides... maybe they'd be put off by his gut. He's getting one, after all... a little bit more every year. None of them are young anymore; none of them have sleek velvet bodies like they used to. Jim grimaces. 

Apparently Spock and Bones don't seem to mind, not if it's each other. Bones is sighing now-- he can hear it. His voice is thick with pleasure. "Yes. Spock." The rustling increases. The word "Spock" sounds so soft, so tender, Jim thinks he might as well just have said 'I love you.'

"Leonard." The name is audible on a deep, rumbling breath, and McCoy cries out a little louder in echo. Kirk wonders if Spock is inside Bones now. He must have got comfortable there, after all, over the long weeks when McCoy held his katra. This must be like going home.

They lose track of where they are-- at least a little; he can hear Bones gasping again and again, a soft little grunt that greets each thrust, each stroke. He imagines them moving together, both suddenly inexpressibly beautiful at any age, to his mind's eye. He stays still, his eyes stinging. 

Spock muffles Bones's climax with kisses, by the sound of it; his own, if it happens, is silent. 

Jim thinks it happened; he suspects Bones wouldn't rest until it did, but all he hears is the soft velvety sounds of them snuggling up, and then the long slow exhalation as Bones sinks to sleep. He can hear Spock humming, crooning-- it sounds like a lullaby.

His cheeks are wet, goddammit-- he must have something in his eye.


End file.
